


What Doesn't Kill You

by FictionalNutter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Concerned Castiel, Enochian, Gen, Hallucifer, Hurt Sam Winchester, Minor Amelia Richardson/Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1376719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionalNutter/pseuds/FictionalNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second verse was different from the first. When Lucifer came back to Sam's head, he had different tactics, so Sam found different coping mechanisms. He also became a lot better at hiding his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Doesn't Kill You

**Author's Note:**

> I'm debating turning this into a 'verse, because I've been looking for an excuse to explore the part of me that likes Sam/Castiel as a thing. So, maybe. Let me know if that floats your boat. Either way, I'm not talking smut, just overall character interaction.

When Castiel had vanished with Dean into God knows where, Sam had had only a minute's worth of peace before Lucifer was speaking to him. He had closed his eyes, taken a deep breath, and tried his hardest to ignore the persistent voice of the Devil. This time though, it was different. This time, it didn't matter whether or not he acknowledged Lucifer. It was like legitimately having another person in the room with him, and Lucifer tended to be less obnoxious if Sam just spoke to him. Sam went through a few days of trial and error before realizing that it was easier to just admit Lucifer was there and work with it, rather than try and bottle away the encroaching insanity. It was also less than effective to slice his arms in an attempt to use the old trick Dean had taught him for establishing what was real. Lucifer would be quiet for a while when Sam used that trick, but he never really left. Eventually, Sam decided to only use that particular tool in his arsenal if he just desperately needed the peace.

This time, at least, Lucifer didn't seem to want him dead. Sam could sleep with relative ease, although every dream he had was completely in Enochian, and he usually woke up having unrepressable flashbacks to the cage. At least Lucifer wasn't interfering with his ability to eat or anything else he needed to do to function properly. He was just always there. Sometimes, it wasn't really that bad. Lucifer would want to talk about music, or sports, or the latest blockbuster film that Sam hadn't even had a chance to see. Other times, it was a like having a psychologically torturer that had been created just for him. On those days, Sam would hold out as long as he could before succumbing to the temptation and slicing his arms open to make Lucifer shut up.

He was good at functioning in public. If it was a good day and he was talking to Lucifer, he would pretend to be on his cell phone so people wouldn't try and figure out why he was talking to someone who was apparently invisible. If it was a bad day, Sam tried to stay inside. If he did have to go out and interact with people, he put up a mask so professional that no one would ever guess how broken he was beneath the surface. Sam had a lot of practice in holding up under torment.

Sam had tried to research ways to find Dean and Castiel, but he really didn't know where to start. It also quickly became evident that his bad days were ten times more common whenever he put effort into finding his brother. If he was on a regular hunt, Lucifer would usually be fine, only one or two bad days here and there, and Sam was functional. If he began to research anything to do with Dean's disappearance, then he had more bad days than good, and his functionality would drop to virtually nothing.

It was after one of those incidents where Lucifer had refused to let him research Dean's disappearance that Sam hit the dog. He wasn't drunk, but he did have alcohol in his system, trying to numb some of the emotional pain that hadn't completely disappeared with Sam's most recent additions to the scars on his arms. Hitting the dog was a wake up call. Sam hated causing anyone to suffer, even animals, and he immediately threw himself into saving the dog's life. It took a little berating from the vet to get him there, but once he realized that the singular focus on the dog was causing Lucifer to give him some peace, he relaxed. He even got to know the vet, and they bonded over the loved ones they had lost. After a few weeks with the dog and the vet, Amelia, Sam realized he hadn't had a single bad day since hitting the dog, which he and Amelia had named Riot.

Sometimes, Lucifer would give him bad days still, but he explained them to Amelia as a form of PTSD, and never let her know that he had someone else riding shot gun in his head. She and Riot managed to keep him almost completely sane, and he was relieved. Even the bad days were less difficult, and some days he could hold it together completely without ever needing to touch alcohol or his knife.

Then, Dean came back. Sam was so shocked and relieved that he had to focus twice as hard to hold himself together. Dean had asked if he had looked for him, and Sam couldn't in good conscious say yes. He'd tried, but he'd always given up in favor of keeping his sanity. Understandably, Dean was pissed at him, but Sam resolved to work on mending that bridge, rather than giving his brother more to worry about in the form of Lucifer induced insanity.

Sam had more bad days now, but he figured out very quickly what caused them. If he and Dean were doing well, then Lucifer seemed to back off. Anytime the animosity flared up between them, however, Lucifer would leap forward to capitalize on Sam's distress. However, Sam had had a lot of practice concealing Lucifer's torment, and he wasn't about to let the Devil ruin the progress he was making with Dean. So, a little liberal application of his knife and some extreme focus on whatever case they happened to be on kept Dean from knowing, and kept Sam from losing it altogether. His bad days may have been more frequent, but they were easier to handle with Dean nearby.

Everything changed when Castiel returned. At first, Sam was thrilled to have the angel back. Dean had clearly missed him greatly, and Sam had to admit that he had felt the angel's absence keenly as well. However, once Castiel had returned, greeted them both, then refreshed himself back to his normal state, he turned his focus on Sam. His gaze was intense, and Sam found himself looking for any excuse to look elsewhere.

"Sam," Castiel said firmly, waiting until the hunter finally looked at him. "Are you all right?"

Dean glanced between them, confused, one eyebrow raised curiously.

Sam put on his best poker face and nodded at Castiel. "Yeah, Cas, I'm fine. Are you all right? Now that you're out?"

"I am primarily glad to have a moment's rest," Castiel acknowledged, allowing the shift in topic. "I am also relieved to find you both whole."

Sam relaxed, grateful for the chance to dodge the angel's questions. He didn't need either of them knowing that their stop in Purgatory had returned his madness. Neither of them needed to deal with that, and Sam was functioning perfectly fine on his own. He had had some especially bad days recently, primarily as a result of Lucifer getting a crap ton of material off of Dean's stint with the cursed penny, but thankfully his brother had been distracted enough to miss the days Sam had barely kept it together. He had made it through, and now Castiel was back as well, so they would all be fine.

Sam had gotten used to dealing with injuries on the move, dealing with them as best as he could in order to not have to spend any time in a hospital or around anyone who may have been able to see past his mask. One incarceration in a mental health facility was plenty. He did not, however, count on being thrown across a graveyard by a ghost. That had happened plenty of times in his life, but this particular time had knocked his head against a gravestone, and a sharp pain in his side must have meant he had landed on something. He never quite figured out what, because other than Dean's yells, Sam was aware of nothing before he fell unconscious against the ground.

He awoke, dimly, to the sound of a doctor explaining his head injury to Dean and Castiel, who must have returned at some point while he had been unconscious. He thought he heard the doctor say that the injury to his abdomen had been caused by a metal spike in the ground, although that seemed to be the least of his worries. Lucifer was on his other side, lecturing him about how stupid he'd been to let down his guard around a ghost. It wasn't exactly bad day material, but it still made Sam feel bad enough that he felt his fingers absently twitch for his knife. That always helped.

Or, perhaps, it was causing more problems. Sam thought the doctor had been talking about his head injury, but instead he was talking about Sam's arms. Dean sounded upset. Dean had never seen Sam's arms, not since he'd returned. Sam had made sure of it. Dean couldn't know how hard it was, because he had enough to worry about recovering from his own Purgatory induced PTSD.

"Sam's always been the emo one," Dean was saying, his tone confused, "But he's never been the angsty suicidal type. I would know. Why the hell would he be slicing his wrists open?"

"We aren't talking about some simple cuts here," the doctor told him sternly. "They run all the way up and down both of his arms, overlapping in most places and going as high as mid-bicep. Some are quite old, and others are very recent. He does this regularly, as has done so for probably about a year."

Dean's intake of breath was sharp, and Sam thought he saw Castiel place a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. He groaned to himself, upset that he'd managed to hurt himself enough that a doctor had been able to destroy all the work he'd put into protecting Dean.

The groan must have been out loud, because everyone was looking at him now. Lucifer was still talking, but Sam was ignoring him for the time being. He couldn't focus on two things at once with the headache he currently had.

"Hey, Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked, concern in his voice.

"Head hurts," Sam muttered, blinking slowly to try and bring the room into more focus.

"Doc's got you on some good drugs," Dean informed him. "Sounds like you're going to be a little drunk feeling, but your head should heal up pretty quick. I wouldn't have brought you in, but the injury in your side was pretty bad, and I figured it was better not to risk it."

"Smart," Sam managed to reply, still blinking. He couldn't tell if it was working. Dean had said something about him feeling drunk. Was he drunk? He felt drunk. No, drugs, that was it. He was on some kind of pain medication.

"You're real sharp, you are," Lucifer snarked at him from the corner. "Can't believe you got yourself beat up by a ghost. I thought you were trying to hide me from Dean. You suck at keeping secrets, Sam."

Sam turned to glare at Lucifer before he realized what he was doing. He refocused on Dean, who was already starting to put the pieces together.

"Sam..." Dean started, but didn't look like he knew what to ask.

Castiel was having no such issues, and looked as though he understood completely. "How long, Sam?"

"Since you guys disappeared," Sam answered. He frowned. He hadn't meant to reply. Drugs sucked. He glanced at Lucifer, who was glaring at him with unmasked hostility. They had agreed that Castiel couldn't know, because Castiel would tell Dean. Or maybe Sam had determined that and Lucifer just hadn't argued. It was hard to tell anymore.

"Is it as bad as it was before?" Castiel asked, his tone still serious.

"Only some of the time," Sam answered honestly, still unable to stop his responses. Lucifer was going to be mad. "I have good days and bad days. On the good days, we just talk, and it's okay. I mean, not good, but I'm usually fine. On the bad days, I hold out different times. Depends on how bad. Usually the pain makes it stop for a while, so I use that to get through until I can sleep."

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean breathed, his expression crestfallen.

Sam didn't really hear him, focused on Castiel. "Dean can't know, because he doesn't need to worry about me. I'm okay. Lucifer wouldn't let me find him, but I got better at managing him, and now I can do this for Dean. I can take care of myself so he doesn't have to worry."

"He's worrying now, idiot," Lucifer snorted. "I told you, you suck at this."

Sam glared at Lucifer again, more out of a knowledge that if he didn't at least acknowledge the Devil than it would get worse.

"You are very strong, Sam," Castiel told him softly.

"No I'm not," Sam argued. "If I was strong than I could've beaten the bad days long enough to figure out how to get you and Dean out. It's like I didn't even try."

Dean made some kind of choked noise and began pacing the room, wincing every time Sam's eyes shifted, now that he knew there was a fourth party in the room demanding at least part of Sam's attention. How had Sam managed to keep this from him?

Sam finally seemed aware of the fact that Dean was there too, listening. "Dean," he murmured.

"Yeah?" Dean replied hoarsely.

"Is my head gonna be okay?" Sam asked vaguely, aware of the dull throbbing.

"You'll recover from this just fine," Dean told him. Hesitating for a moment, he finally added, "We'll work through everything else, together."

"I do better when we're working together," Sam informed him, smiling. "Whenever we fight it's a lot harder."

Something like guilt crossed over Dean's face, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Turning to Castiel, he whispered, "You knew?"

"I suspected, when I found my own madness gone in Purgatory," Castiel murmured back. "Sam is phenomenally strong to have been able to withstand this so long without breaking."

"Yeah," Dean replied, sounding choked up.

"Cas, you're all powered up, right?" Sam asked from the bed.

"Relatively speaking, I suppose," Castiel allowed. "Why?"

"Can you stop me dreaming?" Sam asked, glancing at Lucifer when he started laughing.

"You having nightmares too, Sammy?" Dean asked gently, moving back to Sam's side.

"Not exactly," Sam replied, sifting uncomfortably. "All my dreams have been in Enochian since Lucifer came back, and it's really hard." He didn't elaborate.

Dean didn't need to be a mind reader to understand why Enochian would bother Sam. Stuck in a cage with two archangels? He couldn't imagine that they'd bothered with English. He didn't think that had been a problem for Sam before, but it seemed like this relapse of Lucifer in his head was different the second time around.

Castiel seemed to wince in sympathy. "I can attempt to alter your dreams, Sam, but I will not likely be completely successful."

"That's okay," Sam sighed. "I've gotten used to it."

" _Sam, I will do my best to help you_ ," Castiel uttered the phrase in Enochian in as gentle a manner as he could muster.

" _Thank you_ ," Sam replied, smiling. He turned back to Dean, who looked concerned. "Don't worry about me, okay?" He said sternly, although it fell short, due mostly to his lethargic manner.

"You're my little brother, Sammy," Dean reminded him softly. "I'm always going to worry about you."

Lucifer snorted at that, but seemed to back off slightly.

Sam's eyes tracked the movement, and he relaxed. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Sammy," Dean murmured, resting his hand over Sam's. "Anytime."


End file.
